SoulBands
by stormsandsins
Summary: When Harry gives himself and his two best friends a ring each, the other two don't realise what he is asking of them. And then, slowly, it dawns on them as they wait in the dark: he is so much alone yet so little without them.
1. SoulBands, Chapter One

Soul Bands, Chapter One

_By Caducee_

"These are for us," he'd said, carefully opening a small velvet pouch. Even before peeking inside she had known what it meant, and before knowing it she had squeezed Ron's arm.

Ron had frowned dubiously at the box inside, knowing after a quarter of a second what this meant as well. He had quickly glanced at Hermione, worry also etched into his eyes, and she had regarded him with an expression similar to what was threatening to build in him as well. _He can't be doing this. Please. Not now._

And Harry, oblivious to their exchange, had droned on, fingers shaking uncontrollably as he picked up each ring from the soft silk and displayed them neatly in the crook of his palm. Hermione had caught a glimpse of the rings but Harry had just as suddenly closed his fist around them, hiding them from his friends for a moment and looking up again with a darkness looming behind his eyes, making both of them shudder to the core.

"I want both of you to know that this is for… our protection. I don't want _anyone_…" At this last word his voice had cracked with painful exertion, but he had recovered quickly, perhaps hoping that his friends wouldn't have noticed how his throat constricted with each passing second. Telling them this was killing him. "To hurt you. I don't want anyone to hurt you. I don't care about me."

Hermione had gasped. "Harry!"

Harry had had the grace to look appalled for a moment as he met her eyes, but he had resumed his speech in much the same fashion as he had before. "It's the truth, Hermione. It's either him, or me. One of us. I don't…" He had exhaled a long, sorrowful breath to control his emotions, like always. A pillar of strength, he had once been told. Harry felt like the Pise Tower; a simple gust of wind could be enough to shatter him to pieces. "I don't care if I die, as long as justice is served right. I couldn't live knowing that I've failed. It just wouldn't do. _'Neither can live while the other survives.'"_ He had repeated the prophecy to make them understand. It only served to scare them furthermore.

Ron had cut in, trying to make his friend think rationally, "Harry, mate," he had started, but Harry had interrupted him with one hand in the air, eyes closed painfully against what he had to say.

"No, Ron. It's destiny, they would say. I call it doom, but whichever term suits because either way I have to go after him. And _these_…" He had opened his palm to them to reveal three glinting rings. "These are going to tell us if one of us dies."

There. He'd said it. Hermione had wanted to cry.

"Soul Bands," Ron had murmured, glancing sideways at Hermione, who had brought her small hand to her mouth silently, with wide unbelieving eyes.

Harry had merely answered with a slight nod.

"Harry," Ron had started again, about to refuse his own ring, but once again Harry had sharply cut him off and handed him his ring before offering the other to Hermione. He himself had already slipped his on when Ron had been surveying Hermione's reaction.

"Don't start. I've thought about this long and hard. I need to do this, at least for your sakes. You have the right to know."

"Harry, you know we'll be there."

Hermione had agreed vehemently. "We're not daft, you know. We're wizards, Harry, perfectly capable of defending ourselves with our own means."

Harry had seemed helpless then, like a small bird lost in a thundering storm. "But this is _my_ fight. Mine alone. I'm tied with the bloody prophecy, you're not."

He had had a ruddy good point. Ron had seen Hermione bite her lip, dipping her head to finger the ring which still sat in the middle of her palm, as if she could not quite believe Harry's words. Ron thought he knew what was tearing at her. This fight with Harry was hopeless. They had to let go… They had to let _him_ go.

And so, wordlessly, Harry had pushed Ron and Hermione's rings on their right hand's fourth finger. And then he had suddenly Disapparated and left Hermione alone with Ron in the Shrieking Shack, with the wind howling terribly at the windows and the creaks resounding in the old shabby house sounding much more terrifying now than they should have under normal circumstances.

Finally Ron had sat down on the unkempt and dusty bed and Hermione had sat at the foot of the bed and they had talked about everything and nothing. Just the sound of his voice had reassured her. Just the thought of him close to her now broke the fears and made it all that much better. She realised later that she had needed this talk.

Lost in their conversation, Hermione didn't notice at first but then she realised she was fingering her ring distractedly. It felt strange, to have something stuck to her finger when she wasn't used to such invasion of her fingers. Oh, of course she'd worn the occasional ring and fancy jewellery for special occasions, but apparently it had just now stuck to her brain that she would not be taking this one off for a little longer than just a few hours. In fact, there was no telling how long she would wear it.

Ron's hand closed down around hers, halting her fingers in their distraction. She looked up to see him pensive. "Feels strange, doesn't it? Our life force right into the strands of this ring." He paused, seeming to be lost in the past, and then he frowned. "I've seen these before. Sometimes, when couples want a more modern wedding, they offer these rings to their loved ones during the ceremony, but it's usually two strings that bind them spiritually – or magically, if you will – together: the 'pink' one and the 'silver' one, to represent the woman and the man in their simplest element."

"Silver seems cold to me."

"The silver gold represents the man's strength."

"And the pink one?" Hermione asked, thinking she thought she might know the answer already.

Here Ron stroked her palm with his thumb and laid his head on top of hers. Hermione closed her eyes and shuddered as Ron slid down the edge of the bed while his other hand roamed round her waist to rest flat-palmed on her stomach. "Pink gold represents the woman's beauty."

The sound of his voice was comforting and rocked Hermione into peacefulness. She smiled slightly before quivering again.

"Are you cold?" Ron asked immediately before pulling away and regarding her in the face with worry etched in his still-boyish features.

"Not at all," she replied, lying through her teeth. It was cold. A creeping cold that seemed to emerge from her fingertips and toes and spread out to her core, making her shiver all over.

"Are you sure? You don't look so well… you're shivering."

"Stop fussing over me." For once she hoped she sounded bossy enough. She did not need Ron to start pampering her at the brink of an impending war.

Hermione felt Ron move and struggle to stand up, and then he came back with a dirty but bearable coverlet and wrapped it snugly round Hermione's shoulder. Only then did he seem satisfied and sat down again to wrap himself as well with the bedcovers and enclose Hermione's middle cosily. And she was thankful, but she would never dare admit it.

"What's your colour, you think?" she asked after studying the graceful entwining of the three colour-different metals so similar in nature. "I'm fairly sure mine is pink, obviously," she added with a little leer.

Ron was thoughtful for a few moments. "Well, Harry is certainly our man of steel, don't you think? I don't know, I guess I'm the yellow gold. Something draws me to it."

Hermione smiled unbeknownst to Ron. "Yellow gold always seemed warmer to me, like sunlight and summer days…" She shifted in his tight embrace to meet his sky blue eyes. His hands seemed to tighten around her. His eyes seemed to penetrate her core. She felt weak in the knees, even though she was sitting and couldn't possibly collapse. "And…" Her voice betrayed her; at once it shook with tension and nervosity.

His eyes strayed south to her lips and became entirely entranced with them. "And?"

Hermione's thoughts became clouded. How could it be? She'd never experienced such incoherentness… but it felt good, like she was being thrown over numerous white clouds of fog and couldn't care less if she fell or not. She stared at Ron fixedly but couldn't make thought. "And… I'm not sure… Ron…" she trailed off.

He soon shook himself out of his trance and roughly stood up and went to the window to stare outside. However, several planks of hardwood blocked the said window, and all the other windows in the shack, in fact. So he whirled around, defeated, and studiously avoided her gaze, instead playing with his ring much like she had only moments before. "Frankly, I hate these rings," he said fiercely, suddenly.

Hermione blinked. She hadn't expected such bluntness. She should have. This was Ron, after all. "Come again?"

"No, really, I do. I was told when I was young that muggles underestimated the power of these rings. In fact, history goes that those first few muggles who had acquired them had bought them in wizarding jewellery stores somewhere in Italy. Pink gold went through a colouring process that wizards designed and all that. So these enamoured couples found out sooner than later that when their husband or wife died the gold attuned to them would blacken forever." Ron scowled at the ring. "I've heard so many dreadful stories about wizards' gold that now I definitely despise any jewellery made with it."

"Why?" All this was tickling her curiosity.

"I mean, it's crazy, isn't it?" Ron threw his hands in the air hysterically. "How a boy could be so afraid of a harmless piece of gold! Why not be scared of leprechaun gold, it'd be a little more constructive. I'd have a real reason to be scared, but… but _this_," he spat, lifting his right hand and presenting the ring gleaming on his fourth finger, "this is insane! And why would Harry tie us all to each other like this? Why did he _do_ it?" Ron slid down the wall, shoving his head into his hands. This was the most painful sight Hermione had ever had to witness, except perhaps when she'd had to take Ron up the trapdoor after he'd been knocked down by the Queen in their trek to save the Philosopher's Stone in their first year. Seeing a boy break down was bearable, but seeing a full-grown man breaking? She couldn't take it.

Hermione pushed herself up to her knees and shambled toward Ron's crippled form to take him gently into her arms for comfort. "So we'd know," she supplied helpfully, hoping she was right.

She pulled away enough to brush a whisper kiss on his forehead. Ron closed his eyes as she snuggled back into his arms, burying her nose in the warm nook of his shoulder and breathing in the scent of Ron: molasses, earth and cinnamon.

Hermione woke up the next morning alarmed. Somewhere, maybe in her dreams or even her subconscious, she had seen Harry in the midst of war, and she had seen the fires blazing and the shocks of coloured lights blast from everywhere all at once. Blue, black, red, silver, green. Green. The green that had haunted her dreams and reality ever since she'd witnessed Zacharias Smith's death from the confines of his kitchen cupboard. A simple mindless visit to his and his wife's house as an old friend from school had turned inevitably into a horrible nightmare. She hadn't been able to scream, it seemed. She had wanted to, had willed herself to scream against the backdrop of Zacharias and Mary's last breaths of life, but it had got lost halfway through her throat. And yet, the horror still haunted her during the night. Guilt tugged at her every time she lost herself to the memory.

"Oh my God," Hermione breathed, trying to even her breaths and turning to her side to search numbly for her wand on the bedside table. She illuminated the darkened bedroom to verify, with trembling fingers, if the white gold on her finger hadn't uncoloured.

Suddenly something moved and barely touched her breast. Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. Looking down at herself, she saw a large, pale and freckled hand thrown over her chest carelessly and grazing her left breast over Ron's old large Cannons shirt that she didn't remember throwing on.

"Ron…" she murmured to herself to acknowledge his presence. Ron stirred in his sleep, the closeness of their bodies fully snapping her back to reality. His body was warm and solid against the length of her back, so closely spooned he was against her. Hermione felt strange but safe in his snug embrace, especially as his hot breath stirred the hairs at the nape of her neck.

Ron's legs shifted again and Hermione was relieved to find that he was at least wearing trousers, but she realised that she wasn't. Ron's shirt was the only layer of clothing protecting her, and she realised then that this meant Ron had donned his shirt to her somewhere along the way. And yet his legs tangled with hers, and he was tender, and this felt eternally good, if a bit novel.

Delicately, so as to not disturb Ron, Hermione picked Ron's hand up in hers and she began twining and entwining her fingers through his, and the glint of the different golden hues drew her attention to his ring. The pink, the yellow and the white still harmoniously winked back at her.

Suddenly Ron let out a small cry of distress and enveloped Hermione, throwing his leg over hers and his arm clamping her shoulder, as he let out a litany of words about the current War and protecting someone over his life.

Hermione wanted to cry. This was exactly what she dreaded as well. Laying her hand on top of his, Hermione felt Ron jerk and then relax again. And she proceeded to study their rings one beside the other.

"Hermione?" came Ron's hoarse voice in her ear suddenly, jolting her out of her occupation.

"Yes, Ron. It's me," she murmured.

For a few moments there was silence, but then he seemed to realise their comfort and jerked back. "S – sorry. I didn't mean to."

Hermione sighed, turning to face him. "It's all right, Ron. We both needed the comfort, I think."

Ron blushed. "Did – did I do… anything?" he asked with a small mousy voice.

"No, Ron," she replied.

"Oh."

The tenseness was corporeal. "I didn't… mind," Hermione said at last.

Ron pierced her gaze. "Really?"

Hermione nodded, swallowing the great big lump of nerves threatening to swallow her whole, and licked her lips anticipatingly.

Ron's eyes strayed south to her lips before surveying her eyes again, and then he reached out and pulled her body right next to him, only inches away from her lips, and breathed in her scent with closed eyes. Hermione smelled of sweet apples, of ink and perhaps a little candy. He could swear on anything that she had probably never smelled of candy before meeting Harry and himself. The thought made Ron smile ever so slightly before he felt her nose nudging his shoulder. He opened his eyes to feel her press her body against him and hooking her leg over his.

"Hermione," he choked out, incapable of coherent thought.

But already she had drifted off again.


	2. SoulBands, Chapter Two

**SoulBands, Chapter Two**

_By Caducee_

His visits were more sporadic over the months since the War had by now begun. She had made a point to make to the Burrow everytime the Wireless announced the Dark Marks in the sky were getting closer to Yorkshire, but sometimes, when a storm broke out, Ron would Apparate to her flat and they would get her grandmother's wool cover out and cuddle under it while watching the Wireless Projector, a new device recently created by wizards to work as a muggle television would, or the fire in the grate, and then they'd fall asleep in her bed and the next mornings would be bliss.

Thunderstorms. Hermione hated them with a flaring passion. Not only did they make her feel small and weak, they seemed designed to make everything look more frightening than they really were.

The power was out, once again. It had been a little less than a week exactly since the last thunderstorm. And she had been alone during that one. Only, this time, the power had let out and darkness enveloped her as she walked through her flat, breath caught in her throat and gasping with each crack of thunder.

"Lumos," she whispered, holding her wand aloft to search for candles in the broom closet. Hermione quickly grabbed five candles and closed the closet door, shuffling to the drawing room and lighting the candles before gingerly throwing the wool over her shoulders and snuggling in the rocking chair to turn on the Projector.

But soon she closed it, head thrown back and eyes closed against the sensations as her legs opened up for her. Her breath came in short gasps as her fingers softly flicked the small nub over her trousers and knickers. But there it was, the warm wetness welcoming Hermione as her head swam with sorrow and guilt. Taking a deep breath, she boldly passed the lining of her knickers and her hips arched for her completion. Sliding one finger over her folds and testing the waters, Hermione smiled a little, though sadly it was. Perfect. Pulling one foot up to rest it on the chair, she dipped one finger in, then two, and finally three, and hissed as she pushed in, feeling whole finally. Brushing her thumb over her clit once again, she began mindlessly rolling her hips as her fingers pushed in, and suddenly images began to play on the backs of her eyelids like a Projector. Images Hermione would never possibly tell, because they were too impossible. Images of lust and sex in the throes of passion.

Hermione felt incredibly empty when she came undone.

Opening her eyes once again, she found her flat empty except for the candles flickering softly all around her and providing smooth light to tame her anxiety. She had hoped…

Lowering her leg, Hermione grabbed her wand from the tea table and cleaned herself before laying her head back against the headrest and sighing. The rain clattered still, unrelentless. And the wind howled in her ears, unmerciful to her mood.

Suddenly she heard the soft crackling sound of someone Apparating in the entryway. Pulling herself up instantly, Hermione pulled her wool around her tighter and smiled, making her way toward the entrance.

"Evening," the cloaked man said, shaking his dripping wet robes off before hanging them on the peg.

Hermione grinned wide and pulled him into a tight embrace. "It's so good to see you," she breathed huskily against his chest.

"I'm so sorry for last time. I was incredibly busy, moving out soon and all."

Hermione pulled away at arm's length suddenly, surprise written all over her face. "You're moving out?" she asked with a voice that wasn't her own.

"Well, I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do, but someone offered me their flat in Bristol because they're moving out to Canada for their job. It's a cheap price, he's desperate to sell, and I've been saying I want to move out for so long… so I'm considering."

Hermione seemed to notice only then that they were still stationed in her entryway. She pulled away completely. "Let's go in the drawing room, yeah?"

Ron nodded, pulling his trainers off and following her. "Are you all right? I mean, you seem a bit distressed. Did something happen?"

Hermione blushed furiously but threw herself on the loveseat and looked up at Ron towering over her. "Oh, it's nothing," she replied, fussing with the cushions and making a show of making herself comfortable as Ron sat next to her. "I guess I'm just surprised by the news, is all."

Ron laid his head thoughtfully on hers and wrapped his arms around her middle, drawing her against his chest. "It's not final, you know. I'm still thinking. And besides, he said there are three bedrooms and two bathrooms, one of which is adjoined to a bathroom."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. So I was thinking about asking you to consider possibly moving in with me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, thoroughly surprised at his offer. "And Harry?" she asked, fingering her ring under the wool.

She couldn't see his eyes darken, but could imagine them doing so as he replied cautiously, "If possible, then yes, I'm going to ask him as well."

Silence filled the void they both felt at talking about their best mate.

Hermione broke it, biting her lips worriedly. "I'm scared," she confessed in a murmur.

Ron bit his lip and listened to the storm, knowing that, somewhere, Harry was in there fighting the battle of his life… a battle he was meant to fight. It wasn't fair. Ron tightened his grip on Hermione and kissed the top of her head quickly. "I know." He wanted to say 'me too' but he knew he had to be strong for Hermione. "Harry will kill him," he added with a painful crack to his voice, making it hard to breathe.

Hermione felt helpless, but she pressed her lips soundly on Ron's left arm and rested her head against him, knowing full well that she hadn't the power to help Harry, but hoping that thinking about him would do nonetheless.

When Harry came to find them again, it was at Hermione's flat. There had been a storm the previous night, and Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep on her blood red couch, with the grey wool cover thrown over their closely huddled bodies. Harry's fist connected with the door six times before Hermione realised that there was someone at the door. Straightening her clothes and running a hand through her wild hair, she checked through the peephole and stifled a cry before throwing the door open and welcoming Harry in her arms.

Harry's scar was definitely a blazing red, more apparent than ever against his pallid skin, as if he'd encountered Voldemort on several occasions in the last few days and had suffered the pain of Voldemort's mental and physical torture. "Harry…" she said helplessly before dissolving in racking sobs. "Oh, Harry… you're bleeding, you're…" She pulled back when he winced at her touch. "You're bruised," she observed, flinching when he groaned under his breath. She sniffed back her tears and cradled his stubby cheeks, pressing her lips to them and raking her fingers through his dirty ebony hair.

"He's not dead," he answered her one looming question in a painful breath.

"Oh, Harry… come inside," she instructed, taking his hand in hers and dragging him inside the comforts of her home.

Footsteps resounded from the drawing room, shuffling over the carpet, and Ron suddenly emerged behind the doorframe, dishevelled head and eyes full of drowsiness. He scratched his head once, yawned, then regarded Harry wordlessly, and suddenly it registered in his mind. Gasping, his eyes widened and almost feel out of their sockets. "Harry! Merlin, what the devil _happened _to you?"

Hermione pressed her finger to her lips and dragged Harry out of the entryway and to the bathroom. "First, you need to clean up, then we'll heal your wounds, all right? Ask aloud if you need help with anything."

Harry nodded weakly and supported his dead weight on walls and doors as he made his way to the washroom. Hermione watched after him as he retreated away and only spoke again when the shower started running.

She turned back to face Ron, determination etched across her face. "He can't be going back today. I know we're the only ones he can trust with healing him anymore, but you know just as well as I do that he'll fight us to go back to Voldemort." She started toward the kitchen and produced two books from a cupboard and presented one to Ron. The other one, he knew it was called _Healing Magicks and Their Tricks_. Peering closer to the one Hermione had brandished, he recognised one of Professor Snape's class textbooks. "Sleeping Draught?" he heard her ask.

Ron bit his lip. "I'm only going to do this for Harry's sake. You're to blame if he ends up hating our guts."

Hermione smirked ever so slightly, and Ron was reminded of the bossy little schoolgirl in her for a moment, all excited she was about brewing something other than regular food.

Harry slept under the influence for five days straight without interruption.

On the fifth day, Hermione sat beside Harry's sleeping form and studied his features, brushing his hair here, examining his eyes without glasses there, and when Ron leaned casually against the doorframe, he smiled a little.

"You'd think you were his mother. Mum always did that to Ginny when she was ill."

Hermione lifted an amused eyebrow. "What am I doing, oh-so-clever Ronald Weasley?" She lowered her head. "And besides, he's never had the luxury of this sort of affection."

Ron sat next to her on the armrest and wrapped his arm around her small frame. "I know. That's what's sad about all this. He needs his friends to surreptitiously tell him he needs a break. A mother would have just said 'stay' and he would have."

She cracked a smile. "He never stops, does he?"

"Bloody world saviours… they're all like that," he replied in a teasing bitter voice.

She elbowed him. "Be nice. He might hear you."

"Can't place an observation, can I?" He sighed melodramatically. "Here's every man's answer to everything unfair: Pfft, women."

Hermione let herself giggle. "You couldn't live without us," she answered pointedly.

Ron did a double take, and poked her. "Good point, that." He stared past her at Harry. "Think he'll wake up soon?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Hermione seemed tense. "Think he'll be mad at us?" she asked anxiously.

"Considering?" Ron teased. "Maybe."

Hermione elbowed him again. "Argh, you're a nuisance."

"I finally hear you say it. Hermione, you have made my day."

She smirked. "Bugger off. I'm worried about our chance of survival and you're ruining it by making fun of me. Hardly compassionate of you, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Eh. Fred and George rubbing off."

"Very. Now shove off."

"Neh. I'll be mildly amused if couch potato here wakes up and decides to throw a gigantic tantrum."

"You are the worst best mate I've ever seen."

"He'd do it too, if I were in his place. Of course, I wouldn't drool on my pillow so much. Oh, and I'm curious to know if you'd defend me as much if I were in a vegetative state, too."

Hermione frowned, annoyed. "Of course I'd defend you, Ron. But Harry is a lot more – _Harry!_"

Indeed, Harry had opened his eyes to find spots of blurs and vaguely familiar voices that became more familiar as his senses slowly came back to him but one – "M'glasses."

They were swiftly handed to him. "There you go, mate."

Harry grunted and pushed them past his nose. "Thanks. Where am I? Oh – Hermione's flat." His arms flailed about suddenly. "What the ruddy hell was that for? Voldemort –" Ron and Hermione still occasionally cringed at the name, especially when Harry mentioned it. "Voldemort could have fled to another galaxy by now for all I know!" A litany of curses and swear words flew past his lips so fast that Hermione and Ron were both stunned, staring wordlessly.

Ron nudged Hermione, whispering in her ear. "Told you so."

Suddenly Harry stopped his tirade, growing weary. "What day is this?"

Hermione squeaked a bit. "It's been five days since you fell asleep."

Harry jumped off the couch and staggered a little as the blood pounded back to his members. Then he pulled on his robes and searched for his wand in his pocket without success. "Where's my wand?" he asked hotly, rounding on Ron and Hermione.

Hermione's fingers trembled around Harry's wand as she held it out to him. He practically dove for it but Hermione held it out of his reach. "Listen, Harry, I – we did this because we thought you needed rest. You've been gone for months now; who knows how much sleep you've had. And… Ron and I, we're terrified."

Ron interrupted her. "Terrified? I didn't say that."

Hermione threw him a dirty look that clearly read 'Shut up and stick with me.' She returned her gaze to Harry. "We're terrified of the things you must be going through. Do you have any idea how wounded you were? I'm the one who healed you, Harry, and you were in horrible shape."

Harry seemed unyielding. "I don't care. Give me my wand."

Hermione sighed defeatedly – there was just no fighting Harry on this one – and handed him his wand. "I know you don't want to hear this, but it was for your own good. We care, you know."

Harry disappeared before she had the chance to tell him goodbye.

"It's like he's living off of his sick determination," Ron said from the couch. "One day it'll catch up to him."

Hermione couldn't have said better.


	3. SoulBands, Chapter Three

**SoulBands, Chapter Three**

_By Caducee_

Harry was gone for months at a time then, leaving news behind but never going into full detail. Hermione and Ron knew by intuition that Harry had faced death on more than one occasion. But Harry would never admit it.

There was a 'pop' as Ron Apparated inside Hermione's flat, bearing great news. He had to admit that it was far too early in the morning to be barging in her flat like that, so when silence met him upon his arrival, he wasn't surprised nor disappointed. Shuffling quietly into Hermione's kitchen, Ron grabbed an apple and began eating it distractedly as he headed to the drawing room, turning the Projector on and surfing the channels in search of the sports channel. Today was the Caerphilly Catapults versus The Prides. Not bad. This could prove to be a brilliant game.

Flopping onto the rocking chair, Ron heard a sound in Hermione's washroom that sounded like someone turning the water off. Shrugging, he returned his eyes toward the game and The Prides marked ten points right on cue.

"Ron?" he heard Hermione ask from the vicinity of the bathroom at the sound of cheers heard from the Projector.

"The Prides marked ten points. Don't worry," he said in guise of a greeting.

The bathroom door flew open to reveal Hermione dressed only in a pair of knickers and a Gryffindor Graduate tee shirt too large for her. He suspected she might have nicked it from him, because he remembered hers fitting to her body quite nicely. She was running a brush through her matter hair and made small puddles of water all around her. "You're awfully early," she remarked with a raise of her eyebrows.

Ron smirked. "Is that so bad?"

Hermione merely shook her head, chuckling, and pointed her brush at him. "Something has got to be tickling you or else you wouldn't be here catching me in my knickers and smiling like Momus bit your arse."

Ron turned off the Projector. "Well," he drawled out, clasping his hands over his lap, "if you care to know, I just now acquired a flat."

Hermione's mouth hung hugely agape and she stood shocked still, incapable of moving. "W-w-what?"

"That's right. I bought the flat I was telling you about. Thought it'd be cool to, you know, drop off and let you know so you can make your decision." He stared at her seriously despite the situation he'd caught her in. "You _did_ consider my offer, didn't you?"

Hermione felt like an idiot. A complete, utter idiot. Leave it to her to forget about the one thing Ron had been talking about that was so hugely important to him. How could she have forgotten? Hermione plopped down on the couch, scratching her head distractedly while drenching the spot she was sitting on. "To tell you the truth, Ron, I… I forgot."

Ron burst out laughing. "_Forgot?_ Hermione Granger, you can't be serious… You're serious?" he said, clearly astonished. "Oh, man, that has _got _to be a first." He chuckled a bit more, much to her displeasure, then became serious again. "But… would you _like_ to move in with me? I'm telling you, the place is huge. I couldn't live alone in there without feeling like the biggest fool in the world. I'd go bonkers, there's too much room."

Hermione laughed. "That huge, eh?" She could, in fact, imagine Ron getting lost in a gigantic flat and calling for help with desperation in his voice, but she promptly banned the thought. That was mean. "Sure. One condition, though."

Ron was only radiant. "Anything, beautiful."

Hermione grimaced at his choice of wording. "I get a bathroom to myself."

Ron waved his hand in casual dismissal. "Pfft, women."

She swatted him. "Well, I'd like to keep my femininity intact, thank you very much."

"Your wish is my command."

Exactly twenty-five days later, Hermione sat on the couch, perusing through the stacks of letter and sorting them by recipient, then category. Friends, bills, family and job offers. Frowning at the latter, she carefully lifted her mug of coffee to her lips and sipped the hot liquid.

Lately, she had received more job offers from muggle companies than wizarding ones. It was a bit disappointing but she knew the War was accountable for the lesser number of jobs available in wizarding Europe. Dark creatures and Death Eaters everywhere inspired terror to witches and wizards, and Great Britain was no exception, if not worse, for the Dark Lord was known to roam the lands, therefore company owners in England, Scotland and Ireland were closing down shop and often went bankrupt. More often than not, it pleased the employees when their boss locked shop, even if it meant personal bankruptcy as well. But not only was it a guarantee of personal safety, it allowed them to protect their families.

However, Hermione did not care for hiding. She'd recoiled enough in the safety of her flat in Yorkshire, taking freelance writing jobs every odd week but not daring to take office anywhere in fear that Voldemort would know and kill her. It seemed futile, though. He already knew her blood status. He knew she was a 'mudblood', as Malfoy had incessantly called her in school. So why hide if he hadn't done anything yet? She knew she should be scared. After all, she was Harry's best friend and he knew she would be there for him no matter what. But she wasn't going to hide because of that. So as she munched on a bit of scone and swallowed with coffee, she picked up a letter from Bloomsburn with the firm intention to reply to their invitation to join their team of book publicists.

However she was distracted when two large freckled hands wrapped around her middle and proceeded to turn her heart to jelly. Seemed he did this nicely without so much of a second thought, lately.

"See you've finally made up your mind…" he said.

"Ociwan was hit by Death Eaters two days ago. Not very inviting."

Ron proceeded to draw a trail of feather-light lines up her spine before beginning to gently massage her shoulders exactly where her stress had built up in the last few months. "What about Korpes? They were leading after Ociwan, weren't they?" he asked, apparently remembering the little bit of information she'd provided him after a hearty talk about her work direction.

Hermione sighed, drawing her legs underneath herself. "It's no use, is it? I mean, no one is going to pick up a book after the fire… no one. And no one will be inspired to write a book. It'll all be about survival and hiding. So I think it's safer if I opt for the non-magical companies. The sales are going well and no one suspects there's a war going on under right their noses."

Ron said nothing but his hands busied themselves elsewhere. He worked at the nape of Hermione's neck, eliciting a soft mewl of content from her part as she closed her eyes and relaxed under his touch.

"I never thought I would get so many replies, though. Twenty-three. I counted them."

Ron shifted to sit on the back of the couch, hovering just above her, and peered down at the tea table. Hermione caught a whiff of soap and cologne as he looked over her shoulder. "Did you…" he drawled. "I got three in so many days," he said, picking his job replies from the table and proceeding to open the topmost one. "Well, Dagenfern's closing down. No point in re-applying anytime soon," he mused bitterly.

Hermione turned in her seat to face him and stared up into his eyes as he read the next one to himself.

"Omega Forces is accepting me but their study course is rumoured to be complicated." He looked up at Hermione quizzically, silently asking her for her opinion, though he thought he knew exactly what her next words would be.

Hermione nodded at him. "Ron, if you're accepted, you should give it a shot. It's not everyday that you encounter someone with the grades to make it to the biggest Magical Law Enforcement schools."

Ron shrugged and passed on to the next letter. His face suddenly became covered in a sheen red blush that profused from his cheeks up to his ears and hair roots. "Bloody fame," he grunted before making a ball with the parchment in his fist and throwing it at the furthest wall.

Hermione cocked her eyebrow and giggled at his face, which had reddened considerably. "What was that one about?" she scoffed.

"No clue," Ron replied quickly, studiously avoiding her gaze.

Hermione's interest was furthermore piqued. "Oh, come on. Don't feed me that codswallop."

Ron's ears reddened to the tips, matching his flaming hair remarkably. "Err, some bird."

"A _girl_?" Hermione scoffed, in the mood for some teasing. "What did she want?"

"HarryandItoherselfandohshewantsyoudead," he said all in one breath.

"Come again?" Hermione asked, befuddled.

Ron grimaced. "Nevermind." He looked around conspirationally, then, and finally slid to Hermione's level. "I am forever doomed," he stage-whispered dramatically in her ear, making Hermione shiver as his breath stirred the hairs sticking out from behind her ear.

She chuckled a bit and laid her head happily on Ron's chest.

Ron felt a tightness in his heart at this close contact, but he asked anyway what was toying in his head. "I wonder what happened to Harry. It's been weeks now."

Hermione tensed and then sighed. "I heard on the Wireless that the Dark Lord was seen heading to Norfolk. Harry must be at his tail constantly for him to be moving around so much. But…" Here she pulled away, sadness and emptiness filling weary chocolate eyes. "Ron," she said with a tautness tugging at her throat, "I don't want to think about him right now. It just serves to remind me that he's out there right now and could die any second from now. I constantly look at the ring expecting it to be turning black, but tonight I don't want to be reminded. Please."

Ron nodded, understanding her request. "Yeah, me too," he said quietly, fingering his ring absently. Unknowingly, he slipped an arm around Hermione's shoulder protectingly and laid his head next to hers gently. Ron's breath on her cheek felt like a small gush of relief. "He'll come back to us, I know that." Pushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, he continued with a small reassuring smile. "But we have to stick together, you and I."

Harry made another cameo appearance halfway through that month, dropping in to rest, eat and pull himself together before hasting away again.

Ron had regarded him distractedly from the kitchen, where he had been unloading the dishwasher with a bit of magical help. "You got my letter, then?"

Harry had sat neatly at the table, eyes dark and mysterious and devoid of all and any emotion. Hermione thought it was sad that he'd turned out this way. Harry had been recoiling away from feeling, before, yes, but now he just didn't give way at all.

"Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here," he had replied snappily.

Hermione, from her perch at the dinner table, had pursed her lips. "Harry, Ron was only asking. We've been worried, you know. There isn't a day I don't wonder what's happened to you." She folded her hands neatly on the table and was met with the faint glint of the ring sitting on her finger. "Then I glance at my ring and I'm at least reassured that you're still alive… but for how long?" She sighed wearily.

Ron wandered into the dinner area warily and gingerly pocketed his wand, letting it pop out from his jeans casually. "Harry, mate," he said before grabbing a chair and sitting down on it with the back on the front. "Listen, we moved in here because we thought it would be safer for the both of us. See, this place is Screened. Anyone with bad or evil intentions will see themselves shipped to Uzbekistan or something. I have to thank Hermione for installing the wards. Brilliant work," he beamed quickly at her, winking.

But Harry's mood had not lifted. "What do I care for Screens?" he grunted, staring off in the distance.

Hermione stole a worried glance at Ron and bit her lip, helpless to Harry's reckless behaviour.

And yet he surprised them both with his next request. "How about some of that Sleeping Draught, eh? Could use some knocking out for a couple of hours."


	4. SoulBands, Chapter Four

Soul Bands, Chapter Four

By Caducee

Hermione ate a small piece of strawberry scone and sighed. Today was her tenth official day of work and she sat confined in her office pretty much overloaded with work and too much reading. There was so much to do and she almost wished she could use her wand to get things going a little quicker, but she had refused to bring it to work with her - it sat neatly on her bedside table at home. There was just no way she was going to attract the attention to herself. Already she'd had to come up with a believable story about Hogwarts and its "far-away" location, because not one person had heard of such a school.

So here she sat, reading a manuscript from a hopeful muggle novelist and attempting to make a decision: the bin or Mrs. Thawburnes's office? So far she liked her job, but it was just the loneliness that put her down like this and transformed her into a sardonic hermit who wished out, out, out.

Her office was small and crammy and smelled of aging lavender which, ironically, constantly reminded her of school and her old friends. She smiled to herself. _Figures_, she thought, _Lav would have brightened this place loads, made it fashionable and home-y or something._ There were no pictures on the pale blue walls, which looked like an exact replica of muggle hospital walls.

"Granger?" a hesitant female voice came to her from behind the door. "There's an... owl... perched on your doorknob, and it... won't go away." Now that Hermione really listened, she thought the owner of the voice sounded uneasy with her squeaky little voice. "There's a letter-"

Hermione threw the door open, red in the face, so much that the woman recoiled away from the owl and herself, probably thinking she was mad beyond recognition. "Umm," Hermione stammered before gently scooping the tawny owl in her arms. "Thanks."

The owl gave a little hoot of contempt.

The petite woman couldn't have looked more frightened than she did when Hermione slammed the door shut behind herself, regaining the sanctity of her office. The owl hooted again and went to perch itself on her desk lamp, holding its leg out, where a letter was attached.

Hermione exhaled a deep breath. "Merlin, you shouldn't have done that. Do you know how much attention you attracted to me right there?" She sighed, shaking her head as she paced with the owl still cradled in her arms. "This shouldn't be allowed. This is my tenth day here and already the wizarding world has caught up to me." She sighed again, running a hand through the owl's soft feathers, and regained her breath. "What's that you have for me?" She carefully extricated the letter from its talons and fed it with a bit of scone.

This it read:

Dear Hermione,

I am most sorry that this letter is arriving to you merely days after you started your new job. I have been keeping close tabs on you, Harry and Ron and have deemed it necessary to write to you finally after careful deliberation with myself. I think it is now time for me to ask you this favour I have been considering to ask you for some months now.

I am quite sure you have heard of the numerous attacks weighing our world down. Voldemort is gaining power as we speak, and Harry is just able to fend him off, in all honesty. This is where you step in. The Order of the Phoenix lost a great amount of its members due to the numerous strikes. That is why we are desperate for more units to fill our ranks. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks would be very pleased to teach you the rudiments of Auror training. However, the Ministry would have nothing whatsoever to do with this operation. This is why you would not be legal Aurors. But I and the rest of the Order are prepared to make this move against the Ministry for the good of our nation.

Please let me know of your answer as soon as possible. The training will take place everyday from sunrise to midday and start again from three in the afternoon to sunset.

Sincerely yours,  
Professor Minerva McGonagall  
Hogwarts Headmistress

Hermione blinked repeatedly. Hermione Granger, an Auror? McGonagall had to be out of her right mind. Yes, Hermione had considered taking that path for a short while, had even talked to Professor McGonagall about it during those Career Advice sessions, but she had often stayed up late at night to list the pros and cons of tackling this one, and had come up with something that had radically stopped her inner arguments.

Hermione was terrified. One day or another, Aurors were forced to take radical measures and, at one point, were forced to kill if a situation tumbled out of hand. She wasn't scared of firing curses - had done it on more than one occasion with Harry and Ron at school and out, but to kill... she just could not bear the idea of killing.

Hermione had watched her share of muggle movies in her life. Once, she had gone with Harry and Ron to a muggle theatre to see a movie which involved a lot of killing and gore-spilling. Everytime she would hear the gunshot, Hermione would jump and close her eyes tightly shut. The sound was too much, too real. The sight of blood repulsed her.

The Killing Curse didn't harm. It killed on impact without making its victim suffer endlessly. The victim's breath was torn out of them, impenitent. No bruising, no bleeding. But Hermione feared the green light emerging from the caster's wand since she had seen it last while cowering away in an old friend's kitchen cupboard.

"I can't," she mumbled to herself. "I'm a first rate coward."

But Hermione was reminded of that green light again, and thought of Harry's eyes and how much he'd suffered throughout his life without ever voicing his pain. And suddenly it was there, the pang of hurt she felt each time he came back to Ron and Hermione, a torn and shabby form, as he came back to them after following the Dark Lord's trails and experiencing the worst atrocities in the world. He hadn't the right to be alone in this fight between Light and Dark. Hermione had sworn to herself that she would never let him take the Darkness on his own.

It wasn't fair. She loved Harry. Friends didn't let each other down in cowering fear, or because they were asked to by their friend. It wasn't right.

Hermione looked at the tawny owl and, for a moment, saw the face of her Hogwarts Professor in its place. She downed the contents of her burning mug and, determinedly, grabbed a pen and scribbled furiously on a piece of stationary paper.

Ron wasn't there when Hermione woke up, that morning. Today, she remembered just as the heavens broke loose outside, was her first training day as an illegal Auror. Just two days ago she had quit her job at Bloomsburn and had ever since wandered the house aimlessly when Ron left the house to go to the Omega Forces. He hadn't come back home last night. He hadn't told her anything but she strongly suspected he might be doing an overnight preparatory assignment. Ron was secretive enough when it came to the OF; he hardly ever spoke to her about the sorts of things they did. But she wasn't grudging that; Hermione completely understood that he might be pressed to keep everything a secret. However, usually, he told her where he would be so she didn't worry.

It was unsettling how Ron had changed so much in the span of a few weeks. However, she wasn't much surprised by it anymore. Hermione only had to tell herself that he was going to be one of the best law enforcers of their generation that the government had ever seen, if he wasn't already.

Hermione wrapped herself in a black cloak, pocketed her wand and pulled her bushy hair up into a neat ponytail. Nothing was going to get in her way. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she inhaled deeply. _My last day as an innocent young witch_, she though to herself as the ghost of a small smile painted her lips.

Biting the latter, Hermione Granger pulled out her wand and concentrated on the street on which stood the Unplottable Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She felt the pull of every fiber tugging at her body, torn between two places at once, and then finally settled on one. Hermione felt her head spin - an after-effect of Apparating - as she looked up at the space where the House of Black should stand.

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

And then just as suddenly as Hermione had blinked and Apparated to Grimmauld Place, number twelve stretched out before her, grim and old as it was the last time she had been there. Just as austere. As a grown woman Hermione should not have let this get to her, but she could not suppress the images of old reliquaries and unfair deaths.

Shivering underneath her otherwise warm cloak, Hermione regarded the street stretched out on either side of her, spying for unwanted figures, and quickly made for the porch, banging the silver knocker quite heavily on the plain black door. It opened at once, revealing a tall young witch with red hair who was careful about the neighbourhood as well.

"Quick, inside," Ginny rushed out at once with an abrupt, dry tone before ushering Hermione in. "Hush, Mrs. Black's portrait won't come down yet. She's sleeping now but no doubt you made her stir in her sleep." Suddenly she regarded Hermione as one would someone they hadn't seen in years. "My, Hermione, I haven't seen you in ages," she continued in hushed tones. "Everyone will be thrilled. McGonagall just told us. We've been waiting anxiously all afternoon. Everyone's been coming at random hours. Of course, Bill couldn't miss," she said, and Hermione was reminded with a small smile that he was Ginny's favourite brother. "He got transferred to London; he asked for a transfer, didn't want to miss the training for all the gold in the world. Says he'll fight with us as long as we defeat the Dark Lord once and for all."

Presently they were at the kitchen, where a sight much like the first time she had been here met her: everyone - _everyone_, Ginny had said - was there: Padma Patil, who had lost her twin sister to Death Eaters; Lee Jordan, who was currently enjoying the presence of his girlfriend Angelina Johnson, who hadn't yet taken off her Harpies-coloured Quidditch robes; the Weasley twins, who were busy in a corner of the kitchen talking like an accomplice to Katie Bell, who laughed heartily at all of their jokes; Tonks, of course, who entertained the kids in the house while Susan Bones took good care of the meal with Colin Creevey, who still wore his professional wizard's camera around his neck after an apparently gruelling day at work - he took photographs for the _Prophet_ regularly but was in fact a freelancer and provided photographs for all and any magazine and paper who wanted his work; Luna Lovegood, who was currently busy at the dinner table, taking good care of avoiding Seamus Finnigan's Kilkenny beer bottles while editing an article for the _Quibbler_ - her father had left her the paper in inheritance and she had done fantastically well in the last months: the paper closely followed the happenings in the wizarding world since the first attack but also offered some comedy relief for those who were in terrible need; Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was also working at the table - since Sirius's fall he had been assigned to monitoring the more prominent escaped Death Eaters: that is, Malfoy senior and junior, although the latter hadn't apparently made any decision yet even after gaining adulthood, Macnair, Pettigrew and Bellatrix Black to name a few.

This was so much more than Hermione could bear. However her eyes found other familiar figures.

Lupin sat on the farthest corner reading a book about - Hermione could barely make out the words - _More Uncommon Yet Powerful Spells for Fighters Unequaled_. Mrs. Weasley was wearing an apron and was currently helping Susan take the food onto the table while Colin magicked platters, utensils and goblets onto the table as well. It seemed every little nook and cranny of the kitchen was bustling with life.

"Hullo," came a voice at Hermione's ear. She closed her mouth, realising that she'd been gaping like a fish out of water, and turned to face the owner of the voice.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, bewildered. Quite frankly, she hadn't expected him here. "I didn't know you'd been asked to come too."

Ron shrugged and grabbed a beer bottle and wine glass off the table. He handed the glass to her and quickly uncorked the muggle beer - lately Hermione had caught glimpses of muggle beer bottles in their fridge... he seemed to enjoy the bitter taste - before taking a quick swig. "Well, for one, the training's part of my programme, so I'm getting more practice time than the rest of my class. Then, there's the fact that I can't stay here and sit on my arse, hoping that Harry will beat the living daylights out of Vol-Voldemort without a little bit of help."

Hermione smiled. "I quit my job for this," she said quietly.

Nothing could have rewarded her comment better than the utterly astonished face that Ron awarded her with. "The bookworm extraordinaire has failed? I am... I am rendered speechless, Hermione Jane Granger... _speechless_, I say."

Mrs. Weasley called for dinner and soon Susan had filled everyone's plate with British and exotic goods.

And the small conversations strayed to one.

"What are we learning first?"

"Where are we being taught?"

"When do we start?"

Tonks laughed uproariously, then winked at Shacklebolt. "Yes, now I remember my very first day of Auror training..." she said with amusement and malice dancing in her voice and eyes, which were a deep turquoise at the moment. Then she nodded, "Shacklebolt, if you'll do us the honour..."

Slowly Shacklebolt stood, and when he did all eyes became trained to him. "First," he said gravely, "this is not a playground." He eyed the future Auror trainees' children. They wouldn't take part in the training because they were too young; this was why Mrs. Weasley had been attuned to the job of keeping them out of the trainees' paws until nightfall. Kingsley then returned his small hawklike black eyes to the rather large group of future trainees. "I don't want anyone to think they can amuse us with silly trickeries and carelessness. We are not going to tolerate it at all." Hermione and Ron both glanced at Fred and George, who grimaced. "Second..." Here he smiled. "I am glad so many of you turned up so enthusiastically. If you think this cause is important, you're wrong, it's more than important; the future of our world is in the hands of Harry and Voldemort. Frankly, I would much prefer a world of peace than one of hatred and fear. Third," he sighed dramatically, teasing those who had been so eager to know about their training, "I can't really tell you; inside this house; at a nearby park - we've set up anti-muggle charms so we wouldn't be disturbed - and; first thing tomorrow morning." He turned to Tonks inquiringly. "Anything to add, Tonks?"

Tonks waved her hand. "No, I think you covered it all."

Kingsley turned to Lupin and Mrs. Weasley, who regarded each other and shrugged. "No, nothing to add," Lupin said for them both.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Professor, are you going to be training us as well?"

Remus looked up at her and smiled like only he could; it was a tired but nonetheless happy smile. "I've been asked to teach you how to fend off Dark Magic."

Susan Bones piped up. "Like a Defence Against the Dark Arts class?" she asked.

Lupin laughed a bit. "Well, if you put it that way... then yes."

The room became essentially silent save for the little gurgling sounds a baby was making. Kingsley surveyed the table and all the faces trained on him as if asking silently if anyone had any remaining questions. Many squirmed under his scrutiny, but none dared speak up anymore. Shacklebolt gave off that air about him. He was not dangerously mean, but he could quite easily send shivers down anyone's spine. Hermione wondered for a moment if it was a requirement. "Back to the meal, then. Susan, Colin, Molly, _delicious_."

Colin blushed a rosy embarrassed pink. "Oh, sir," he started, "I didn't do much. Mostly stared, is all," he rushed out in one hasted breath.

Kingsley shook his fork at Colin. "A man who enters the kitchen without being sent back out humiliated and injured deserves all the praise he can get." With that wise statement, he turned his undivided attention back to his orange flavoured chicken wing.

Ron heard the creak of the door and cringed by instinct. "They still haven't bloody repaired this one," he grumbled under his breath, pushing it fully open to reveal two tiny twin beds. He turned to Hermione, who stood stiffly behind him, biting her lip pensively. He smiled kindly, seeing her nerves quite raw on the surface. "Which side do you want?" He motioned to the bed nearest a heavily curtained window and added, "Harry usually took this one when we came here."

Hermione shrugged, securing her ruksack for the tenth time on her shoulder. "I don't mind. If you prefer the other one, I'll take this one."

It was a bad idea to start with, she had known it at once when Mrs. Weasley had told the group about the sleeping arrangements. Hermione hadn't minded Ginny when they had stayed together during Voldemort's second rise to power, but now the young energetic woman shared her bed with Colin.

Ron had literally burst out laughing at the public announcement, and Ginny had slugged him hard across the head to shut him up.

It had been a bad idea to pair Hermione with Ron, but apparently everone had assumed that the infamous trio was hard as stone and could never break. Hermione knew better.

"Okay." Ron proceeded to rummage into the closet and come out with sheets, blankets and pillows for the both of them. "Make yourself as comfortable as you like and if you need anything at all -"

"Ron," Hermione sighed scorningly, "we live together. Stop the pampering already."

Ron slouched back on his bed - a simple spell had magicked the sheets onto his bed - and crossed his arms under his head. "All right, then," he smirked, "miss Bossy-Pants..."

Hermione took one long look at his slightly squared face, scowled, and found she couldn't help the smile from her face.

Later, they both stared at each other while talking quietly in the dark.

"You reckon it'll be very hard?" Hermione asked anxiously from her curled up form. Her blankets were pooling in her lap and she had her back against the headboard, almost afraid to look at Ron.

Ron hesitated before answering wistfully. "Hermione," he sighed wearily, "I _know_ it'll be painful. Why, are you having doubts?" he asked softly, the tenderness of his words caressing Hermione.

Hermione bit her lip, finally answering after a long period of consideration. "Well, yeah... I mean, I've decided to help Harry any way I can, but I can't help but feel like I'm being pulled back along. It's... frankly, I don't know if I'm scared or not."

Ron nodded slowly. "It'll be dangerous, if my OF training was any indication. But you're a tough... a very strong woman. You're about the wisest witch I've ever met." He broke out into a small smile, dimples showing shadows on his cheeks. "I always wondered what it would be like to be so crack-full of intelligence."

Hermione tutted softly. "Don't be so daft, Ron. You're just as cunning as I am clever. Those chess games? Any indication, you think? I always wanted your wits."

Ron smiled ruefully, feeling his face grow hot in the instant, but suddenly his face froze. Hermione was shaking, her teeth chattering ever-so-slightly in the cool bedroom they were to share together. "Are you cold?" he asked though he did not need an answer.

A pause, some guilty rustling, and a tiny squeaked, "Yeah."

"Come here," Ron demanded gently, lifting his bedcoverings to let her in and nodding her over.

Such an innocent gesture from his part; Hermione sighed, knowing full well that it was her heart she was trying to slow the beat of; her breath that had quickened in an instant; her hands that had gone colder than they already were.

Hermione slipped in next to Ron and was immediately engulfed in bodily warmth. Ron was always a furnace, no matter how cold a room was. Presently he was drawing her to him, snuggled and spooned to him as she was, and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck...

Drawing a mewl from Hermione's slightly parted mouth.

Ron drew away, regarded her strangely and then did it again and again; Hermione was pretty sure she couldn't hold back much longer. "Are you okay?" he asked finally, settling his cheek to the nook of her neck.

"Better, thanks," she quickly replied, hoping that the quivering in her voice hadn't shown so much.

Slowly, she drew her leg in a more comfortable position and pressed back accidently against Ron's body. The moan that escaped his lips and danced to her ears was unmistakable even though he quickly stifled it with a loud cough.

Hermione felt her whole body grow taut, along with his. She was so surprised that, at first, she didn't feel it... but there, pressing right against the back of her leg, Ron's appreciation demonstrated itself to the backs of her thighs.

It was silent in the dark bedroom for what felt like a thousand millennia.

"Erm, uh, really?" Ron stammered suddenly. Hermione could swear that, had the light been turned on - oh, the pun - and had she turned around to face him, there would have been no telling where hair rooted and face reddened.

Hermione closed her eyes tightly shut. She tried desperately to remember something, but nothing at all came to mind. There was no book about being in bed with your best friend and feeling his penis straining against the back of your leg. So what were you to do in that situation then? And did that mean... no, she couldn't think like that. It was incest but with a best friend. But what if - no. _No, Hermione, don't kill yourself with this. It's just... no._

"Yes," Hermione replied, but when she did it sounded strangely like a hiss, a sexy hiss she had never heard coming from herself.

"Good," Ron replied quickly, squirming to change positions. But Hermione grasped his hand, the one with the ring, and pulled him back against her. What possessed her to do that, she didn't know, but the sighed moan that escaped her lips when his chest pressed back against her, and when his warmth found her again, was feral.

You want him, Granger, Hermione's internal warning voice piped up. Hermione had heard that nagging little voice everytime Ron welcomed her in his bed, when only a towel was wrapped around his waist upon his exit from the washroom, when he was covered in grime after an exhausting day at school. Frankly, the voice was slowly killing her. Ron was killing her. This was the last straw.

Hermione turned around, looking up into Ron's stormy eyes in the dimness. His mouth was gaped open like a fish out of water. She smiled and closed his mouth with a touch of her hand. That full mouth, pink and inviting every hour of the day. She sometimes wondered why he never brought women back to their flat.

Slowly she leaned in, and Ron instinctively closed his eyes, expecting the kiss. Instead, she went to work at his neck, again tearing a surprised moan from his lips. His stubble was barely there, but she enjoyed the slight scraping sensation as she ran her lips from point A to point B to point C.

His hands pulsed on her skin with every moan torn from his mouth. Suddenly he went to work at her breast through the thin fabric of her nightshirt... his shirt. But it didn't register in his mind; just that this woman was ripping him apart.

This woman, Hermione, his flatmate and best friend.

A moan resounded in the room. Who had moaned, exactly? It didn't matter as Ron's fingers ran past the lining of Hermione's knickers, and suddenly the air changed, charged with sexual electricity, around them. But Ron's fingers froze in their adventure, as if he'd been touched by the Stupefying Charm.

Hermione panted at his frozen position. "Ron? Ron?" she asked frantically.

Ron blinked rapidly, like shaking himself out of it. "Bloody hell, Hermione... we shouldn't be doing this."

Hermione swallowed around her incredibly dry mouth. In the bottom of the pit there was a lump and she felt like she couldn't get past it. "You're - you're right." Something hard fell upon Hermione. Reason. The voice of reason. She quickly pushed away from Ron, away from the man who had made her heart turn to jelly mere seconds ago and more than a few times in the past.

Ron bit his lip and watched her turn away again, embarrassed beyond reason. He felt his heart constrict in his ribcage and then drop to the floor with a clatter, shattering him completely.

How could he have let his guard down? He wanted this woman; Merlin, he wanted her more than should be allowed. Ron had been holding back for years: holding back when he saw her hardened nipples through sheer blouses; holding back when he saw her blurred naked form in the steaming shower; holding back when she wore something he was sure he could enjoy slowly peeling off her skin. She drove him slowly insane every hour of the day. She was no puritan in his mind, and he knew it by the way she teased him mercilessly.

But right at this moment, Hermione Granger had pulled the strings to make him feel completely miserable.

**Notes **Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I'm a bad updater -- common trait of a procrastinator -- but I really try. Sorry but college is mad. Really.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: **Ugh. I cannot _believe_ myself. I finished and uploaded all the remaining chapters at fictionalley and totally forgot about updating here. Yes, slap me unconscious why don't you? All I have to say about this story is this: I'm planning on doing a huge edit on it. Not sure when, but after reading this two years later (yep, finished this two years ago... sigh Alas, I suck!) this whole story is leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I've improved greatly since writing SoulBands and I hope to bring a lot more to this story than just... SoulBands. I'm a great fan of mystery and action (which will come in subsequent chapters, no worries) so I hope to bring a lot more. But in the meantime, enjoy the last chapters of SoulBands draft un!

**Soul Bands, Chapter Five  
**_By Caducee_

Hermione couldn't sleep. It was her third night here and she still couldn't sleep peacefully. It had reflected in her Auror lesson especially when her eyes drooped when she was in the middle of a hands-on fighting exercise. Oh, she was very flexible and had the techniques pretty much nailed down to an art, but the falling down in the middle of a fight with Kingsley had proved to be very amusing to her fellow classmates.

So now here she was, laying awake in bed with Ron, again. It was very cold in this room in particular and Hermione hadn't really thought to bring warm nightclothes, for it wasn't winter yet. But then again, sleeping with Ron wasn't so much of novelty for either of them. She often slept with him back in their flat. Ron did not snore but he could sleep through gunfire, which sometimes made Hermione laugh her head off.

Turning in his bed, she ended up laying her head on Ron's chest, listening to his heartbeat, which usually proved to be very sleep-inducing. She loved listening to him breathe. It calmed her when a rainstorm broke out in the middle of the night.

Tonight she didn't need calming down.

Swirling a finger gingerly over his very few chest hairs, Hermione smiled sleepily. Sometimes Ron would stir in his sleep or throw a sleep-heavy hand over hers to stop her teasing. In those times she would simply turn her attention to studying his great big hands and revel in the fact that they were much bigger than her petite and frail ones. However, now, Ron shivered. Was it the draught of cold air finally getting to him? Ron was never cold. In fact, he was always the first one to find the heat unbearable.

Hermione smiled, pressing her mouth to the plane of his chest and placing her ear to it again. She watched the rise and fall of his stomach and kissed him again. No reaction. Ron was a dead weight in her hands.

Hermione studied his lidded eyes, his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, his mouth. Boldly, suddenly, she placed her hands on either side of his head and leaned down, pressing her mouth to his and revelling in the smooth fullness of his lips. But suddenly she swallowed back a cry. He was kissing her back!

Opening her eyes frantically to find his eyes closed peacefully, she sighed in relief: Ron was probably dreaming of someone else.

Ron's hands roamed her backside and Hermione smiled sadly. Of course he was thinking of someone else…

She thought he deserved to get the satisfaction he so seeked. So, cupping him through his pyjama bottoms and earning herself a deep-throated moan in return, she leaned down again and caught his lips in a mind-numbling liplock. Darting her tongue out, she ventured into the depths of his mouth and sighed. Heaven.

Hermione pulled away and straddled his lean hips decidedly. Ron's shirt pooled around her hips. She lowered herself onto him and left a wet trail of kisses on his burning skin in her wake. Her heart was hammering at ear-shattering strength in her ribcage at the danger. He could wake any second. It would be over… Hermione didn't care. It was 'now' that mattered more than anything, and that burning sensation in the pits of her intimacy could only be indication that this was right.

A flood of well-being washed over her. "This is how you make me feel, Ronal Bilius Weasley," she whispered huskily in the crook of his ear. "Like a dam about to break under the weight of thundering water. Only, it's not water my dam's holding back, it's my own countenance." She blew softly on his heated skin, making Ron shudder unconsciously. "And I'm about to break. I'm about to fall. Only," she closed her eyes, lashes thick with moisture when she opened them again, "you don't know." Hermione sighed. "Nine years… think it's enough to cause madness?" She kissed him. "I'm mad about you, Ron. In every way possible. Sometimes I'm so mad I want to hex you insane. Other times I want to fuck you senseless." She paused for effect, knowing that, had Ron been awake, he'd have gasped at her choice of words. "Merlin, Ron, how could you be so clueless yet at the same time be so flirtatious you're about as hatable as you'll ever be?"

Ron stirred. Hermione gulped. Had he heard?

Hermione might never know.

Ron paid as much attention to her as he did Auror traning, which was a statement in itself, but Hermione's mind kept being trained to that night when she'd confessed.

Ron sent the occasional and completely random wink her way like he did before. Hermione couldn't count on that to tell her the secrets of his innermost feelings or thoughts toward her… or if he'd heard.

The following weeks were not much better by a stretch. Ginny now trained with Hermione during most lessons and Hermione often lost herself in the younger woman's freckles, imagining Ron's face instead of hers. Ginny would most probably be offended if she knew, but Hermione usually shook herself out of it before anyone noticed.

It was very frustrating to say the least.

So when Ron came in the bedroom they shared one afternoon and dropped on his stomach next to her as she read a book to think of something else, it annoyed the hell out of her. Ron all but grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under his chest to prop himself a little higher, and then he grinned.

When it had gone on for a couple of minutes, Hermione grew very annoyed. She pursed her lips at her book and closed it promptly, mentally marking the page to remember later. "What?" she asked rather irritably.

"Hey there," Ron greeted her happily.

Hermione sighed. "What's so captivating about me reading a book?" She paused. "What do you want?"

Ron teasingly pouted. "A little bit of love?"

Be still my little beating heart; he looks so sexy looking up at me like that. Hell, he looks gorgeous doing anything, in any position… oh, Granger, don't kill yourself right now.

Ron laughed at her face. Apparently it was funny enough to laugh at. He resumed to grinning in a matter of seconds. "Actually, I'm here because I was hoping we could talk." He sobered in an instant. "Look," he started, but was quickly cut off by Hermione.

Cheeks flushed, Hermione jumped in. "About a few nights ago? I – I didn't mean it. None of it."

Ron frowned confusedly. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione rambled on, unhearing. "I confessed. But then it's not really confessing because none of it was true. I said all of that because I was… tired, dreadfully tired. You know how I get when I'm tired. I can say the stupidest things…"

Ron was absolutely bemused. "What on earth are you talking about?"

That stopped Hermione short. "W – w – what…?" She blushed a deep beet red. "You mean you never heard me… that night?"

Ron shifted to sit upright. "What night? What did you confess?" Concern filled his face.

Hermione could swear her heart stopped beating for five whole seconds. "Oh, umm, nothing to be worried about, actually."

Ron grabbed her hand before she could stand and bolt for the door. He pulled her back down. "Hermione… please, tell me what you said. What night are you talking about?" he asked. "I swear I won't laugh," he then added for good measure.

Hermione stared at their linked hands and suddenly wished Ron would just stop asking. It was hard already to think that she'd confessed; it was much better if he never knew what she'd said that night. She felt like a teenager as she pulled her hand free from his. Slowly and wordlessly, she sat back down, recollecting her wits about her. She had to think of something, and fast. Ron was too smart to believe simple lies. "Err, third night here."

"Oh." Ron could swear he remembered dreaming of a woman roaming his body that night. Of course, it was always the same woman. Always.

Hermione raised her eyes to meet his, and almost melted when he nervously darted his tongue out to moisture his lips.

"So, er, you said something to me while I was sleeping?"

Hermione swallowed hard. "I told you how mad you make me sometimes." This wasn't strictly a lie; her conscience could steer clear for now.

Ron smirked goofily and then burst out laughing. "Hey, that's what I'm here for." He pulled her in for a tight hug, then pushed at arm's length. "But, look, about the first night… I'm so sorry. I was being a right bastard."

Hermione smiled, although she felt her heart constrict. Appearances, appearances, she chided herself. "Molly didn't raise you as a bastard, Ron. It's perfectly legitimate." She grinned, then sighed wearily. "But it was my fault as well." She carefully lifted her hand to his cheek and felt his stubbled softly scraping her fingertips as she looked up into his slender and freckled face. "I'm not sure I'm sorry, though."

Ron shut his eyes at her touch, enjoying the feeling of Hermione's smooth fingertips on his roughened skin. "You're… you're right," he said quietly.

Hermione pulled her hand sharply back, not quite sure what to make of that. "What do you mean?"

Ron opened his eyes and stared back at her for a few beats before leaning closer until nothing but a short string of air separated them. The bed creaked, but neither of them cared to hear. Hermione felt Ron's hand tangle in her hair when his mouth suddenly connected with hers. For a moment she was scared that he would hear her heartbeat as it was like a trampede in the jungle. But Ron only pulled away enough to leave hot, wet trails of kisses on her neck, and then he looked up abruptly.

"What exactly did you say that night?" he asked cockily.

Hermione felt incredibly light-headed all of a sudden. How could she answer this but truthfully?

However, she was about to answer Ron when both of them lurched forward, pushed down brusquely by an incredible invisible force. Such force, in fact, that both of them passed out by its sheer intensity.

Thanks! Leave a review and let me know what you thought! Comments, suggestions for the impending (but probably not quick) re-write, _anything_! I want to hear it:)


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes**: Well, we finally get to the action in this chapter, and our lovely trio gets in trouble. Eek.

As I said earlier, I'm going to do a huge re-write of SoulBands... probably not any time soon, but I'm planning to do it. Sometime. So if you would like to offer any suggestions or whatnot, please let me know in the reviews.

**SoulBands, chapter six**  
_by Caducee_

Mrs. Weasley's plump figure slowly came into view after a lot of blinking and focussing and unfocussing from Hermione's part. "Oh, Hermione, dear, we were so worried. Did something happen? Did you hurt yourselves?"

Hermione grunted, still blinded by the shaft of light coming in through the open curtain. And then yesterday evening came crashing back to her like an awful memory. "Where's Ron? Is he –" 

"Ron was knocked up badly, too." Molly motioned to the bed next to Hermione's. Hermione turned her head sideways and saw Ron's lanky body laying limply on his bed, the slight heave and fall of his chest the only indication that he was breathing and alive.

Hermione felt her head. There was a bump where they'd both hit each other on their foreheads, but otherwise everything felt fine. She frowned and slowly sat up. Why had she fallen? Best of all, why had they _both_ fallen at the same time? Hermione remembered feeling something hit her stomach with blinding force. Obviously Ron had experienced that blow as well.

"I'm afraid you were both unconscious all night," Mrs. Weasley said before propping Ron's head up with another pillow. "I found you both comatose on your bed." Then she sighed, watching her last grown son and running her hand through his short, shaggy cut. "I still see him, five years old give or take, running face first into a door Bill magicked invisible. I kept laughing and being angry at Bill while at the same time crying and caring for Ron's bloody nose." She smiled distantly, then regarded Hermione with motherly pride. "You two really care about each other… To tell you the truth, I never expected him to move in with any other woman than you. You share something special that I've never seen in any other two people."

Hermione couldn't tell if her cheeks were on fire or if a fever was catching up to her. She wanted to protest, but just couldn't.

Ron awoke with a start, and Hermione had an inkling why, because she felt it at the same time. Both of them keeled over, holding their midsections as one would if they had received a hard kick in the stomach or were about to retch.

Mrs. Weasley, a very distant voice, cried out in horror, and when the pain subsided she had frozen with her eyes wide open, nearly popping out of her skull. "W – what happened?" she demanded frantically.

Ron regarded Hermione warily with sick paleness all over his face. "Good question, mum," he said uncertainly.

"That looks like dark magic," she said, evidently terrorised.

But Hermione was looking at her ring, and suddenly it occurred to her that she might have the answer. She quickly looked up at Ron, who caught on instantly. "Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said very slowly, "I think this has to do with Harry."

Ron continued, suddenly more certain than he had been mere seconds ago. "I think he's been badly hurt. He came home wounded before, but I think he's been badly wounded now."

Hermione nodded. This all made perfect sense. The rings could be transmitting strong emotions and wounds to the other ring bearers. So then the rings were attuned to transmit all of this. Clever.

Hermione stole a quick glance at Ron and nodded. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but we have to go," she said before standing up.

Ron stood up as well, swaying on wobbly feet at first, then grabbed his wand off the bedside table and threw Hermione hers. Guiltily, he threw back a quick "Sorry mum" then followed Hermione down the dark flight of stairs. Then, "Where do we go from here?"

Hermione caught Ron's clever double-entendre and nodded understandingly. He wanted them to talk later. Now they needed to focus their undivided attention on Harry. "I've no clue," Hermione said as they exited number twelve, Grimmauld Place, leaving behind a team of good friends and fellow fighters. He let her take his hand and squeeze reassuringly, letting him know that she wasn't about to forget anything at all. "I think our best bet would be to trace back to the connection."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Obviously this acts like a link to the three of us, so it would probably act like a homing device if we tried to reach the source on Harry's side."

Hermione smiled. "You read my mind." She then looked up into his stormy eyes and had a sudden idea. "I think I know how to reach him." She grabbed Ron's hands and linked their ring hands together. She saw his quizzical stare and carefully set out to explain. "If the ring is our link to him and tells us Harry's hurt, then this is logically how we can both connect to him… by way of our rings, _through_ the rings."

Ron wordlessly followed Hermione's lead, who'd already closed her eyes; he closed his as well and concentrated completely on Harry's life force running faintly through him through his ring. He'd always held a deep disinterest in rings, but since this one set of three identical triumvirate rings apparently worked to tell if one of the other two souls forming the triangle was dying or possibly badly injured, it was a completely different story.

Linking his hand tightly through Hermione's, Ron suddenly saw Harry's faint silver strings in the distance. He didn't dare get closer. So many times before, Ron had been a first-row spectator to Harry's rage fits. Even though he knew his mate was too feeble right now to strike at him like he would any other time – this magic was just too novel to fiddle with – he wished to keep his distances as fair as possible.

So when, from the corner of his mind's eye he saw a delicate string of pink tentatively reach out to the silver one, he saw himself – fire light, it seemed – enclose Hermione's soul.

And then the connection broke. Ron's eyes jerked open, and he felt himself pant with exertion. Hermione, though panting as well, was staring straight at him with fire in her eyes.

"Why didn't you let me get to him – at least let him know we're here with him?" she asked accusingly.

Ron coughed, shaking his head. "That's the first step to screwing everything up, Hermione." He took her hand and, before she could wrench it away, Apparated them behind a great cedar bush. He looked up to apologise. "Look, Harry doesn't need us to raise his hopes. What if we never figure out how to get him out of there? What if we came too late? He'd turn to madness, no doubt; any man in their right man would."

Hermione pursed her lips. On the surface, nothing much showed, but on the inside, she was seething: she hated when Ron was so right. And for the last few years he'd grown incredibly knowledgeable and was right nine percent of the time.

Hermione nodded slowly. Ron suddenly put his index finger to his lips and squatted up, regarding the scene before him very keenly. Then he squatted back down. "Okay, here's the plan: There's a house that looks like it's been abandoned for years. I'm pretty sure that's where Harry's been being kept right now. It could be a trap, a way to get all three of us together again. Voldemort wouldn't be so vain as to disregard that fact. Merlin knows he's been known to plan awful things." He sighed and turned a sad eye to Hermione. "That means we're both targets."

Hermione bit her lip apprehensively. The gloomy look Ron was giving her and the vibes of protection he was sending her way were touching, to say the least, but Hermione didn't want Ron's sympathy. "Ron, I can handle myself. I'm an illegal Auror, remember?" she threw in, in an attempt to release her own boiling tension. Seeing Harry after all this time was simply… too terrifying to concentrate on.

Ron merely stared. "A terrific one at that, yes, but…" He sighed, trailing off where he had left off. He crouched up again, then motioned her over. "Let's go," he said. Hermione followed him to the backyard, quickly ducking under windows and being careful not to step on twigs or trash.

There was a deep red light coming out from one of the shabby-curtained bar windows. Ron lifted himself up enough to spy inside, then lowered himself again to Hermione's level, nodding to himself.

"He's there," he said, answering her worst doubts. "I think they drugged him on top of it or something; he doesn't look too good."

Hermione's motherly side came out unexpectedly. "Is he all right?" she asked on impulse.

Ron shrugged, then, without looking at her, as though ashamed of saying what he was about to say, "I can tell he's black and blue a little bit everywhere."

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes, and she felt helpless against them. Harry was hurting because of their negligence. If only they hadn't let him go alone.

"I know that look," Ron murmured, clasping her hand tenderly in his. "Please, please don't beat yourself up over this. I need you to be strong."

Hermione bit her quivering lip, looked up, then swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She nodded and smiled weakly, a contrast to her emotions. "Okay," she replied hoarsely. "What's the plan from here on?"

Ron swallowed with difficulty against his painfully dry throat. "We have to get in. I'm sure they're waiting for us but we have to… somehow." Darkly his eyes set. Ron was ready to strike. But was Hermione?

In a matter of seconds Hermione's hands turned ice cold; her face blanched; her eyes became fearful; her mouth felt pasty and dry. Hermione's eyes only saw the green light which had clouded her nights since the killing she had helplessly witnessed. Green was terror; green was death and darkness.

The vision subsided and Hermione could tell Ron had been calling her name more than once. "What?" she croaked out finally.

Ron stared at her, studying her soft womanly features, then sighed. "You can back out now if –"

"No," she said suddenly, her voice set. Green was also Harry's eyes.

She would go. She would get her friend out of there if it killed her; suddenly it didn't matter anymore: the green light, the red eyes, the darkness… she'd kill if it meant her best friend's freedom to live. She'd cried enough by herself, now was the time to prove she wasn't a coward anymore.

Ron seemed to think it was enough of an answer. Unexpectedly, he grabbed her hand, squeezed – she squeezed right back – and said in a low tone, "When we get in there, if anything goes wrong, just get yourself out."

Hermione opened wide eyes and blanched. "But – what about you?"

Ron waved in dismissal. "Don't worry about me. Just get yourself out and don't look back. I'll handle it."

Hermione started to say something else again, but Ron tightened his hold on her hand and put his finger to his lips to silence her, like before. "Let's go."

The inside of the small and dark-lit house was just as shabby as the outside, Hermione conceded, quietly suppressing a shiver. She and Ron were roaming a hall, constantly inching closer to the small quivering light at the end of the corridor, in what she supposed was the drawing room.

Hermione felt a presence, a presence so powerful inside of her that it burned her finger. She felt the lingering pain, the terror, the delirium… no doubt Harry wasn't far. Could Ron feel that, too? Hermione turned to him to ask the question, but Ron, who was leading, was holding his wand aloft at the ready, keenly observing their surroundings. It reminded her that she should be on her guard as well.

And then, they rounded a corner. Ron stopped short, regarding Harry's immobile body calmly. Hermione slowly followed his line of sight, and when she found her target she almost crumbled to the ground. Ron collected her in his arms before she could start falling. Hermione didn't cry, she didn't yell; Hermione recollected herself and walked decidedly to Harry's crippled form on the chair.

The cuffs had torn the skin raw at his wrists and ankles; there was coagulated blood caked on the rusted cuffs themselves, but the wounds were still bleeding, and the bruises around the wounds were almost black already. What had happened here? wondered Hermione frantically.

Her question was answered just as Hermione turned at the sound of a new arrival and saw a blinding flash of white strings tackle her to the rough wooden floor, next to Harry's sleeping form.

"Voldemort," Ron hissed, seething. He himself hadn't been bound like Hermione; he stood tall in front of Voldemort's hateful face in spite of the fear sweltering inside of him.

"Bravery," rasped the Dark Lord as if he wished nothing else than to spit, "will never get you anywhere." He raised his wand hand and spoke his next curse very calmly, as if he were drinking some rather distasteful tea.

The next thing Hermione knew, Ron was writhing in agony on the floor in front of her. "Ron!" she cried helplessly, tugging violently at her strings inefficiently.

In her wake, Hermione had suddenly grasped Harry's ankle; she had never expected or experienced the reaction it triggered.

Harry's eyes violently jerked open.

And suddenly, inexplicably, flickers of thick magic boiled and turmoiled inside Hermione's very skin, threading through Harry's ankle where Hermione's hand was firmly glued.

Hermione stifled a loud cry; the magic was so powerful it threatened to break her with its intensity.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron back up in the dirt and away from the Dark Lord; toward them he wobbled, and when he was close enough Hermione feebly reached out to grasp his hand. Bursts of white hot magic ran through her from Ron's end. Unconsciously she had grasped his ring hand. Ron, still shaking from his encounter with the Doloris Curse, grasped Harry's other ankle.

The circle was secured.

Ron must have felt Harry's magic coursing through him: fat beads of sweat rolled off his forehead as he bit his lips to keep from screaming.

Hermione's mind reeled: What did this all mean? What was Voldemort planning? Could the three of them be of any measure to him? And how? What was all this magic coursing through them anyway? Why hadn't they ever felt this when they had touched before?

Hermione saw Voldemort advance toward them from the corner of her eye with a repulsive sneer, opaque red beads of dirty rubies for eyes and seemingly sharp slits for nostrils. She had read and heard the descriptions before, but had never seen it for herself. Hermione recoiled away out of reflex but Ron was holding her hand in a vice-like grip. She quickly turned to Ron, who looked up to her with tired but determined eyes, but she didn't understand. They couldn't possibly survive. Not against the most powerful dark wizard the world had ever seen. Ron's breathing was shallow and she thought she saw a storm in his eyes, and suddenly she understood. She understood that she was with her boys. She understood that she needn't fear as long as they were together.

"Well well well," Voldemort snarled, his voice like sandpaper on a chalkboard, "I didn't expect all three of you to be reunited on the day I will finally kill Potter. Couldn't miss the show, maybe? Or perhaps it's that you want to suffer with him," he continued, staring intently at Hermione with sick delight dancing behind his little red eyes as she subconsciously recoiled away.

Hermione stared away and looked up into Harry's deeply bruised face, seeing the sorrow looming sadly behind his dark green eyes. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, _they_ had wanted to find him. They hadn't wanted him to die, let alone suffer. He was worth their friendship; he was worth his life.

So, defiantly, Hermione stared intensely right back at Voldemort.

He sneered again. "Be my guests." Pointing his wand straight at Harry, he clearly uttered the incantation that would end Harry's life.

All at once, Hermione frantically sought Ron's eyes, and felt the power bound inside their three souls leave her body at once. She wasn't sure this was exactly a good sign, but she couldn't move, let alone speak a word. Her hand was glued to Harry's ankle and the further she jerked to pull away, the more it glued her to him. And the next thing she knew was that Harry's entire body had jerked and paralysed.

Voldemort had aimed straight at his chest.


	7. Epilogue

****

SoulBands, Epilogue  
_by Caducee_

There was still that feeling whenever they touched each other's scars by inadvertence. Because, yes, they had been forever scarred that day. Hermione usually tried to suppress it by simply trying to ignore it at once, and she knew they both did.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix had arrived minutes later to fend off the angry Death Eaters, and had neutralised the majority of them… Some of them still lived free lives… The Order's deed was thus not complete. Ron had sworn to serve their purpose until the last one of them was captured. Hermione had decided to opt for security; she kept the reports of all the Order's spies in order and communicated with them during their missions. Although danger was involved, there was just no way she was going to let the Dark Lord's minions return to power.

Harry… Harry had spent nearly six months at St-Mungo's. His new scar was an exact replica of the one from his very first encounter with Voldemort. Six months where Ron and Hermione had held their breaths in tense anticipation. Six months in a hard coma, with various magical devices monitoring his heart beat, his healing wounds, and his brain functions.

Both Ron and Hermione had come out of it with one single small scar on the respective palms that had held Harry's ankles.

When finally Harry had been granted his leave, Ron and Hermione had both welcomed him to their flat; however Harry had begun to draw away after a few days, always moping about the apartment, and when finally Hermione had found him a job serving at a completely muggle café – oh, they'd received many an owl offering him a more than decent wizarding job: positions and ranks left and right, offered to him like biscuits and tea. But he'd always refused. Hermione had simply deduced he didn't want to deal with the wizarding world just yet. And with reason, she thought solemnly to herself. His face and his famous lighting bolt scar had made the wizarding front pages world wide upon the world's discovery of the shocking yet fantastic news: _"Boy-Who-Lived Defeats Dark Lord For A Final Time:_

Last night, in the wee hours of the morning, Harry Potter, young hero extraordinaire, vanquished You-Know-Who by a pure show of fearlessness and courage. It was days ago that the young man with a scar that has marked him since the day that he survived the curse that destroyed his family, was held hostage by the Dark Lord. It is still unclear as to why Lord V decided to keep him alive in an abandoned cottage house built by a forest. Potter has decided to keep the details to himself, but was adamant to tell the press as early as the day he and his old schoolmates, Mr Weasley and Mrs Granger, left St-Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries that the spell You-Know-Who was about to hit Mr Potter with backfired and hit You-Know-Who instead. Again, details are sparse and Potter has been very secretive about the ordeal. But speculation has arisen and… (story continued on page 2)" 

As for Hermione and Ron… their names had been uttered and printed once or twice, but as long as they stood by Harry, theirs would always stand behind Harry's. Frankly, though, they didn't care much. They were all still alive and glad for this fortunate miracle.

Hermione stared up at the moonlight streaming in over her head. The ceiling was eerily illuminated, distorting the shadows and making them appear much less frightening than they had ever been.

There was so much she still wondered, or wanted to find out soon. Swallowing deeply, she allowed her heart rate to slow down and to feel the comfort of heat creep inside her tingling and sated body. Her fringe was matted to her forehead; she lazily swiped it off her face and turned to look sideways at the face that looked back at her.

He was staring with half-lidded eyes, the glow from the moon cast onto his face and ever-present. "Where do we go from here?" he asked the very same question he had asked weeks ago. And yet, now, she was prepared, with an answer tipping right off her tongue.

Hermione smiled very lightly before slowly crawling into his arms brazenly. She brought his scarred palm to her lips, knowing the reaction this would engender like the back of her own hand. "I don't care. As long as I can have this moment to remember."

It seemed as though the golden and pink strings glowed on Ron's hand when she pressed her lips to his starry scar, so similar to her own.


End file.
